


Mikrokosmos

by Huinari



Series: Pandora [4]
Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate History, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drabble Collection, F/M, Ficlet Collection, Gen, May or may not be AU, Original Names, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Petrichor-relevant, Post-Petrichor, Rating May Change, Reincarnation, Silver Millennium Era, Spoilers, Worldbuilding, mentions of Fruits Basket
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:15:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21915841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huinari/pseuds/Huinari
Summary: One history for one personOne star for one personSeven billion different worldsShining with seven billion lights-BTS, MikrokosmosExtra scenes from Petrichor that were taken out of the main story. May have Original Characters.
Relationships: Aria & Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Chiba Mamoru/Tsukino Usagi, Chibiusa/Helios, Chrome Dokuro & Rokudou Mukuro, Luce/Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Meiou Setsuna/Fon, Rokudo Mukuro/Tomoe Hotaru, Senshi/Shitennou, Tomoe Hotaru/Yamamoto Takeshi
Series: Pandora [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1321157
Comments: 48
Kudos: 58





	1. Table of Contents

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gerbilfriend](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gerbilfriend/gifts), [Suzululu4moe](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Suzululu4moe).



1: Table of Contents

2: Ricardo's first impressions of Sephira.

3: Dione on Iapetus (Saturnine).

4\. Sailor Cocoon muses on the circle of life.

5\. Teresa proposes to Acheron.

6\. Venus thinks about love.

7\. Takeshi loses a fight he didn't know he was in. (Saturnine, for Gerbilfriend)

8\. Asari Ugetsu and his surprising friendship with Sergio Tiberinus.

9\. Hibari Fumito, on his brother.

10\. Luna and Artemis admire Acheron’s forgery skills.

11\. Aria tells Reborn that she is pregnant. (For Suzululu4moe)

12\. Chibi-Usa back in her time.

13\. Setsuna, Fon and the difference in height.

14\. Acheron and Peitho on choosing to become priests.


	2. I’m not a shoulder to cry on (but I digress)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: I’m not a shoulder to cry on (but I digress)  
> Characters: Vongola Secondo (Ricardo); Sephira; Giotto; Longchamp I; Silvia (OC)  
> Summary: Ricardo meets Sephira at last.  
> Warnings: degrading language towards women; toxic masculinity  
> Song of the chapter: This Ain’t A Scene, It’s An Arms Race – Fall Out Boy

Unlike Giotto, Ricardo did not learn how to use these Flames from the mysterious Sephira. In his younger days, holding boys five years older than him in high regard, he had followed Giotto and his friends to a clearing where they practiced setting themselves on fire.

G still liked to tease him about how bratty he had been back then, threatening to tell his parents what they were doing if they wouldn’t teach him. It took much trial and error, but eventually he, too, could start and use Flames, a kind even more destructive than the ones Giotto wielded.

His teachers were Giotto, G, and sometimes Simon, and that meant that the first time he saw his cousin’s teacher was after he officially joined the Vongola. Giotto had been reluctant, but Ricardo had been an excellent fighter even in adolescence, just like he was in every field, and when he was an adult they had no further excuses to keep him away.

Ricardo joined the Vongola, fought under its name, and six months in, he finally came to meet the mysterious Sephira for himself.

She was no longer the wise woman in the woods, the one that sent little gifts along with Giotto – small cakes, books, herbs – and other than what he heard from Giotto, Ricardo had heard from rumors and reports, about the boss of the Giglio Nero Family.

Leaning back in his seat, letting the wine in his goblet sit instead of drinking it, Ricardo glanced at the woman sitting next to his cousin’s pious Guardian, engaged in an animated discussion about faith and compassion. Since Giotto had completely dropped his guard, and even G wasn’t keeping his head, one of them had to stay sober and alert.

If rumors were to be believed, the woman playing host to the Vongola was the most ambitious whore in all of Europe, brazenly collecting favors and powers by selling what was between her legs, taking in that of men to play at being a queen. The holy whore, queen of flowers, jeered those who looked down upon the family that took on the emblem of the black lily. The most precious flower was hidden in the robes of a false priestess, and one had to pay a price to enjoy the honey between its petals.

Those were the tamer things said about Sephira of the Giglio Nero.

But those were the wildest, most unreliable rumors, and not just because he knew there was nothing worth less than the weight of mindless chatter of the masses.

It was a faith he had in Giotto, and if not in Giotto, the reckless man who fought on behalf of others, then it was in G, who was Giotto’s common sense born in a separate man. It was the lack of faith he had in rumors viciously perpetuated by suitors turned down by a woman who had no interest in sharing power with a man lucky enough to marry her.

Whoever was the father of the bastard daughter that was said to be her spitting image, his identity was a secret to all of Italy.

As for Sephira herself, and his impression of her . . .

The first time they met, it was in a joint negotiation with the Vongola, the Giglio Nero and the Tomaso. Ricardo was Giotto’s back, in case things went south. Tomaso Primo had seven men with him, each as ugly as boars and just as well-mannered.

Sephira had a woman just an inch taller than her, who looked more a lady-in-waiting than the Guardian of Lightning her ring identified her as. Even Lampo was more threatening than the slight woman with chestnut hair.

Intimidation was not the way of the Giglio Nero, obviously. She could have brought Sergio Tiberinus, and the Tomaso would have cowered at the presence of the infamously sharp-tongued illusionist, but she hadn’t.

Ricardo nearly wrote her off as a woman who did not know how to engage in negotiations, and the Tomaso did too.

Until negotiations actually started.

Every jeer, every condescension, every comment heavy with innuendo – even Giotto’s patience was dangerously close to snapping – she was completely unaffected by, merely reminding Tomaso Primo that he was straying off topic patiently.

Not a whore, Ricardo thought. A saint. Or maybe a well-made doll.

It wasn’t praise, not the way he thought it. Silvia, at her side, kept a far less composed look, but she kept it reigned in. If looks could kill, then the Tomaso Family would have been down a leader and his entourage in a bloodbath.

“We could take it somewhere more private,” Longchamp Tomaso was saying, in regard to discussion about the vineyard that was the subject of dispute. “The Tomaso are always open to beautiful women.”

His eyes trailed over Sephira’s white-robed form, and then to Silvia. The Lightning Guardian’s eyes narrowed in disgusted annoyance, and Tomaso Primo wagged his tongue. “Especially feisty ones.”

“A pity that beautiful women aren’t interested in you,” mused Sephira.

It was said in the same mild-mannered way she had said everything else, and it took Ricardo a moment to make out what words she had actually said. Surprised, he did a double take, and no, he wasn’t imagining it – not when Silvia was grinning like she had received everything she wanted.

Longchamp sputtered, face flushing. “What did you say?”

“Given that this is the seventh time you haven’t understood what I said the first time,” Sephira said, in that same calm voice. She had never once raised her voice, never been thrown off her serene state this entire time. Always steady and secure, unaffected. “I am not surprised you need clarification, s _ignor_. I said, beautiful women aren’t interested in you.”

As far as comebacks went, it was weak, but it was a combination of things that made it more impactful. The first, being that it was from a woman who had until now been rather passive, and the second being that it struck something in Longchamp.

Ricardo expected him to rage. To shout. To insult.

Longchamp’s red face – red as a tomato – shook, and then, to Ricardo’s disbelief and mild horror, he burst into tears. When he had left the Vongola’s headquarters this morning, Ricardo had never expected to see a grown man blubbering about his failures, the pressures of his family, and how he was a disappointment.

Sephira, to that, merely left her seat and went up to Longchamp. His men tensed, wary of the woman they had spent the last hour sniggering at, but she ignored them, and their hands twitching towards weapons, and merely pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve to dab at his eyes.

It was very motherly, and Ricardo discreetly pinched himself. No, this wasn’t a dream.

The calm façade broke, and behind the mask was a compassionate woman, a martyr that had walked off a stained-glass window to mingle among human beings and spread gospel. With the same endless patience she had displayed earlier in the farce of a negotiation she stayed with Longchamp until he stopped crying, and murmured something in a low, soothing voice while rubbing his back with a gentle hand.

Somehow, that set off the man into further tears, and he snatched the damp handkerchief Sephira offered to loudly blow his nose. Without even a twitch of disgust marring her face, she extended a hand behind her, and was promptly handed a fresh handkerchief by her Lightning Guardian, who looked rather used to how this had turned out.

Ricardo side-eyed Giotto, who didn’t look surprised either. So that just left him, and the seven goons who were thrown off-guard. Not that it showed on his face as easily as it did them.

Eventually, the wretch finally stopped blubbering, and it was like he was a changed man now. Still an idiot, but now, instead of throwing innuendos like a man who couldn’t keep it in his pants for one minute, he seemed to fawn over Sephira’s every word, a fanatic at an altar. She remained the same, but Ricardo was more wary of her now. She might not be the temptress, but she was still able to lift and shake the hearts of those she met, and that was dangerous – especially with how easily she pried personal weaknesses, and how she ensnared Longchamp with just a few words and gestures.

Negotiations ended favorably for all sides – the goal that both the Vongola and the Giglio Nero had been pursuing – and Longchamp left after insisting that the Giglio Nero one day be invited to the Tomaso Family for a feast. From an idiot to an idiotic fanatic. As far as personal growth went, Ricardo was not impressed.

Giotto was more focused on something else. “Every day, I think that if I were half the person you are, I’d be satisfied, but also sainted.”

Sephira shrugged. “He was just pressured, from all the expectations of those around him,” she said. “Demanding that he fit their image of what a man is. What a man should be. It’s terribly harmful and toxic, to not just men but women.”

His cousin nodded, as if committing her words to memory. “Is that why you didn’t bring Sergio?”

For all that rumors about Sephira of the Giglio Nero were abound, there was a reason why few dared to say it to the Family, and especially the Mist Guardian. Sergio Tiberinus was a man who was not to be trifled with.

“No. He’s with Felicia.”

A man who was known by all who knew him to not be crossed, and Sephira had left him to babysit her daughter. Ricardo’s opinion of her was lowered once more.

As if she had heard his thoughts, her blue eyes fell on him for a moment before turning back to Giotto. “Besides, Silvia was looking forward to speaking with G again.”

Behind her, the Lightning Guardian sputtered, face flushing.

“Sorry to disappoint,” he drawled. Ricardo was observing. It was unsaid, and yet implied, that he was next in line to the Vongola should something happen to Giotto. It wouldn’t, not if the Vongola had anything to say about it, but all men died. 

But then again, G had been surprisingly eager to push this assignment onto him, and the rumor mill of the Vongola were saying that the last time the Giglio Nero and Vongola met, there had been a lover’s spat of sorts between the two.

“But I am sorry that you had to hear that,” Sephira added. Ricardo thought back and realized that it was only when Longchamp turned his attentions to Silvia that she finally grew a spine.

No wonder Giotto liked her so much. She was a kindred soul in the white robes of a priestess and ocean-blue eyes.

As long as the alliance didn’t drag down the Vongola, he concluded, when she glanced his way and he averted his eyes, the weight of that perceptive gaze heavy on him in a way he was unfortunately, frustratingly familiar with. As long as his family did not have to protect the Giglio Nero.


	3. Familiar like my mirror years ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Familiar like my mirror years ago  
> Characters: Dione (Chrome Dokuro’s Saturnian pre-incarnation); Iapetus (Rokudo Mukuro’s Saturnian pre-incarnation); Makaria (mentioned; name of Princess Saturn)  
> Relationships: Dione & Iapetus  
> Summary: Dione’s first impression of Iapetus was that he was a precocious boy.   
> Warnings: This is Saturnine-compliant. In other words, it is not Petrichor-canon.  
> Song of the chapter: From Eden – Hozier

Dione’s first impression of Iapetus, standing in the halls of Titan Castle in robes made of silk and embroidered with the pattern derived from the rings of Saturn on his sleeves like a high-ranked official of the planet she had chosen as her home, was that he was a precocious boy.

And unfortunately, she wasn’t incorrect.

Was he talented in magic, and especially the illusory kind? Undoubtedly. Most illusionists could manage only small things, use them as distractions. What Iapetus did was on a whole other level, a scale of which that had not yet been seen. He was a genius, of that there could be no disagreement.

But where he was far advanced in his ability to create illusions, perhaps further than anyone else on Saturn, it was made up for in his lacking in other areas.

That is to say, his skills in social interactions.

Iapetus was precocious in even that. He wore a mask as easily as he wove illusions to deceive one’s perceptions of reality, and he could read people like they were open books before his eyes. He knew how to present himself, so to say. An illusion, even without actually using his magic.

But as for how he handled people, as his true self?

Dione observed, as she always did, and came to the conclusion that he didn’t really know his true self, not truly. The other Saturnians, eager to give their beloved, entrapped princess everything, impressed upon him far too much from a young age until he was unsure of himself, beyond being the retainer to Princess Makaria.

An honorable position, and yet, heavy on the shoulders, and certainly far too heavy for a child. He had to be on par with adults, on par with those far more mature than him, and Iapetus did so by crafting a mask of what they wanted to see – someone capable of being a Torch.

What bonds could he make with others, when he treated the persona he expressed as an illusion? When his interactions with others were done through a mask? He might trick others into believing they saw the genuine Iapetus, but he would know, and he would never feel close.

Of course he was talented in illusions, Dione lamented. He held everything at a distance from himself, an objective observer, and that applied to even himself. He had worn a mask for so long that he didn’t know how to go without.

A precocious child was a sore spot for Dione. Her sister, born to be a sailor soldier, engaged in the eternal fight between Chaos and Cosmos was one, always aware of her duty from a young age. The princess she had sworn herself to after leaving Cocoon was another – another sailor soldier, another child with eyes too old for her age, another young girl who learned to sacrifice before she could truly live.

And now, the third, a boy whose future had been decided before he could even dream.

A precocious boy. A child who knew more than he should, who acted like an adult – and yet, still had parts missing, the vulnerable, not-yet-ripened aspects that showed sometimes between cracks that proved he was still young, still a boy who shouldn’t have to stand on equal grounds with adults.

One precocious child to serve another precocious child. Dione had her work cut out before her, and she didn’t know where to even begin.

(That was a lie. She did know, in theory – earn his trust, give him a place where he could let his mask go, be himself. Be a child and not a young adult.

It didn’t change the fact that it would be incredibly difficult.

But she would be damned if she gave up.)


	4. There’s far too much to take in here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: There’s far too much to take in here  
> Characters: Euthalia | Sailor Cocoon (Original Character)  
> Relationships: None  
> Summary: Euthalia, on the blessing of Lethe  
> Warnings: OC-POV.  
> Song of the chapter: Circle of Life – Carmen Twillie

Sailor Cocoon wasn’t surprised when both Sailor Mermaid and Sailor Chu were turned down. Triton and Nabu may have been of Mermaid and Chu once, respectively, but they had gone to the Silver Millennium, even during their life.

And then they had died.

Life and death were forever linked in a cycle, but that was not to say there was nothing new in the circle continuing to turn like a wheel. They had been reborn, and though her magic allowed their past lives to resurface, briefly, it was just that – a moment destined to end.

A dream, to protect the mind from being fully exposed to the harsh memory of remembering death.

The soul sought rebirth to seek a second chance – to right wrongs, to heal itself of wounds inflicted from the sufferings of life. Counterproductive, because in this world of Chaos and Order constantly clashing, life would always, inevitably be equated with suffering. There could be no life without an element of suffering.

The ultimate goal of the soul was to shed its attachments, to be fully liberated. Lethe was a blessing, washing the memories of the previous life away in her waters so that the soul did not have to remember the memories of a past life, ended by death.

Lethe erased, to lessen the burdens – and such heavy burdens they were. They were born to suffer, to die, and with it came a lifetime of suffering.

Euthalia let her fingers trail through the powders of light shed by her wings, feeling their fine grain against the skin run down, down, down – slipping away like time, like sand in an hourglass.

Even the sailor soldiers, the incarnations of their respective planets, special as they were, still had a place in this cycle of life and death, this inevitable clash of Cosmos and Chaos. They were sailor soldiers, after all, born to take part in the war. From the smallest, weakest stars to the brightest, that was what the crystals in their hearts shone for.

Sometimes, Euthalia thought about the endless war that had begun eons before she was ever born, and would continue far long after she was gone, and she shuddered at the scale of it all.

In the grand scheme of things, she was nothing. And yet, contradictory as it was, every soul was a star in itself, and the contradiction of life and life’s value terrified her as much as it awed her.

Another day passed, and Sailor Cocoon, as always, lived her life, with all its sorrows and joys.

(Later, when Sailor Chu returned from her trip to Earth to warn Sailor Moon and others, Euthalia wasn’t surprised to learn that the native ranking abilities of Chu that had manifested in the human boy was gone.)


	5. only those I really love will ever really know me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: only those I really love will ever really know me  
> Characters: Teresa Pasta (Original Female Character); Acheron | Nicola Fiume  
> Relationships: Acheron & Teresa (platonic and marrying each other)  
> Summary: Teresa has a reason for asking ‘Nicola Fiume’ to marry her.  
> Warnings: a woman asks her uncle figure to marry her but neither are interested in the there sexually or romantically, as the chapter will show. Platonic marriage of partnership and convenience. May have spoilers for Petrichor Interlude II but it’s vague.  
> Song of the chapter: Seven Years – Lukas Graham

It wasn’t that Teresa _had_ to get married, per say. She was technically an orphan, and her deceased parents weren’t going to be forcing her to do anything, anytime. Neither would her surrogate parents, who just wanted to see her live happily. Both of them were of the opinion that marriage wasn’t a requirement to be happy, and they certainly didn’t care much for it either.

And it wasn’t that she had a desperate _need_ , per say, to get married to Acheron, either. If it was a marriage of convenience for the general public to see, she could always just pull in Scirocco, who, for all that he didn’t care, still did bother listening to her and followed her crazy schemes most of the time. If she didn’t want even that – or if Scirocco didn’t want that – then Acheron could always create an illusion and then off the ‘groom’ several months later and make her a wealthy widow free to do whatever she wished while in ‘mourning’. She could even choose to give several rude gestures towards conventionalities and not get married at all. It would be annoying at times, certainly, but nonetheless she could.

So, Teresa didn’t have to. And she didn’t really want a marriage where she had to share her bed with a man and risk pregnancy or had to be subservient to said man. Sephira was the greatest influence on her life, and unfortunately Teresa could not settle, or change herself.

And maybe it was Sephira, and Acheron, who influenced her and made her the way she was, who tugged her hand towards this path. Who, as immortals with so much responsibility and time, devotion and compassion towards lives, made her unable to avert her eyes to these noble servants to the world.

Who could have been conquerors, gods among men, and yet chose to serve and sacrifice, bleed for the sake of those that did not know them, would not know them. Loved them, for the sole noble and sublime reason that they were alive. 

“I’m already going to be one of many, many tragedies in your life.”

He blinked, and then, like mist clearing by the touch of morning’s sunlight, the face of Nicola Fiume melted away, and it was Acheron who was there, sitting up from his lounging slouch on the seat.

“Don’t say that,” he said, almost urgently. A furrowed brow creased his handsome face, made his already-sharp features almost as on edge as a dagger raised to strike at any insecurities she might feel. “You could never be a tragedy to me.”

Her sweet uncle – and he was sweet, for all that he pretended to be not – smoothed his face and gave her a charming smile. “More like a comedy.”

Teresa did not bother arguing his definitions.

The way she saw it – and he might laugh and remind her that she had lived only a fraction of the life he did, but nonetheless - lives couldn’t just be simply sorted into the neat categories of ‘comedy’ or ‘tragedy’. It wasn’t that clear, wasn’t black and white.

No one could say that Acheron had an unhappy life. A _long_ life full of difficulties, and loss, of that there would be no doubt.

But could one dare say there was no joy, no happiness, no love in it?

Teresa would be the first to say that was a lie, if she didn’t know that Sephira would beat her to it.

The end was guaranteed. But to the man who had always been in her life, always wanted to push into her hands nothing but fortune like an uncle would push sweets into a child’s hands and lay a gentle path of pleasure before her feet like a carpet, thick and fluffy, she wanted to give him all the good memories she could so that when he reminisced about her like he did all those before – all the other nieces, nephews, godchildren, friends, family that crossed the river of woe that gave him his name – he could smile and say, ‘she lived a good life, and it was a joy to have known her’.

“Marry me,” she said, and it was more an order than a request. “As Nichola Fiume.”

Knowing his tastes – and his eccentric sense of humor – Teresa phrased the proposal as a contract. A family that put on a show because conventionalities were boring. A partnership.

A family, for all that some may say it was unconventional.

Predictably, Acheron, after the initial response of blood rushing out of his face in panic at the thought of someone he only saw as a niece asking him to marry her, thought it was hilarious.

“Is that a yes?” Teresa hid her hands in the folds of her skirt to hide her sweaty palms.

Acheron leaned back, eyes glittering with tears of laughter. “Sephira will probably smack me on my back and Daedalus is going to never let it go, but sure, why not.”

He insisted that they write out the terms of the contract on paper – Teresa suspected he wanted a memento of the event to frame and put on display – and for all that he said it was funny, Teresa noted that all the terms, even on this ‘farce’ of a contract, made sure that the power dynamics were completely in her favor, every last bit, and knew he meant every word even before he cast a spell to bind its contents to Elysion, making the oaths invoke a very heavy penalty from him should he break its terms.

And wasn’t that just like him, Teresa thought, exasperated. Looking out for her down to the last tiny detail. Even the greatest move she could make on her part, to look after him, and he turned it around so simply and made it about her. 

_May my death_ , she thought, as Acheron whined about how Sephira was going to kill him for this and he hoped Teresa appreciated having a corpse with a beaten-in head for a groom, because that was what would happen and she was probably on her way here right now, marching the warpath with her shield strapped to her arm. _Not leave you with too much pain. May you remember me as I was and am – happy, confident, alive_.

(Years later, Teresa had to make another life-changing choice, one that would severely traumatize Acheron, and secretly, to her dying day not long after, she regretted her decision, the arrogance that had led her to assume her death would be that of old age, one that would not hurt Acheron.)


	6. Nothing lasts forever (but this is getting good now)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Nothing lasts forever (but this is getting good now)  
> Characters: Harmonia | Princess Venus; Kunzite; Tyche | Princess Mercury (mentioned)  
> Relationships: Kunzite / Venus; Senshi / Shitennou (mentioned); Endymion / Serenity (mentioned)  
> Summary: Sailor Venus realizes that she’s in love.  
> Warnings: Sil Mil times. Harmonia is the name for Venus back then, and Tyche is Mercury. Takes place after that one Venus/Kunzite scene from the manga.  
> Song of the chapter: Wildest Dreams – Taylor Swift

Love, all Venusians knew, was something uncontrollable. Unpredictable. Unexpected. It was the wildfire that blazed, the wind that came and went, a force that held like gravity. It was illness, fortune, fate, exhilarating, world-changing and destructive.

It was love, Venusians said and knew, that was the most powerful force in the universe.

Knowing that didn’t make it any better for Harmonia, when she realized that she was in love.

Had Artemis heard her thoughts then and there, he would have likely snorted and pointed out that she fell in love all the time. Which was fair. She really did, quite often.

But did the multiple times she had fallen in love negate the meaning of each before? Harmonia, and the rest of Venus, would all speak as one and say, no, it did not. Just because something ended, just because they parted, did not make that love any less valuable, any less precious. 

This, Harmonia knew, ‘diagnosing’ the ‘love sickness’ through the symptoms she recognized, was love. Harmonia loved fiercely, with passion and bliss and awe, and the world became golden in those times. Even casual conversation would make her feel like she was floating, every look leave a direct affect on her heart, and her mind would replay memories – or even create dreams of what might happen in the future.

Love, all Venusians knew, was something uncontrollable. Unpredictable. Unexpected.

Harmonia had not expected for Serenity to fall in love with the prince from Terra. Endymion falling in love with Serenity, she could absolutely understand, because who could not love Serenity?

And Serenity loving Endymion, as she loved others, sure – but falling _in_ love?

As Sailor Venus she could not oppose their love – not just because she was the soldier of love, but because it was Serenity, and who could dare tell her no?

She teleported to Terra – to the Golden Kingdom – frequently, searching the gardens lush with life in a way that the palace on the moon never was and never could be, and eventually even the sight of such vibrant, bursting life became a familiar one.

Along with the sight of the loyal general with silver hair, who had been stern at once, on guard, before familiarity made it so that exasperated glances were exchanged over their beloved lieges, before shared conversations and heartfelt moments made it change into fond smiles and –

“Oh, Aphrodite,” Harmonia whispered, the image of the Knight of Purity and Affections – Purity and Affections! Even his title was just so perfect! – never budging from her mind’s eye. She could still see him smile, still hear his words, almost teasing. “I have got it bad.”

Though numbers hardly had their place in love, Harmonia nearly asked Tyche to run calculations on the odds when she learned that the others also found love of their own on Terra with the other generals of the prince’s guard. From the look on her dear friend’s face, she had already done so and the odds were astronomically small, so Harmonia didn’t bother, but.

It was always hard if not impossible for someone of Venusian origins to say that love was a problem, and it was hard now, but Harmonia had to face facts.

This, Harmonia knew, even as the elation of love felt weighed down with the stone in her stomach, a dark pit like the abyss whispering of tragedy upcoming, was going to hurt.

Love and duty. It was a question Harmonia always found herself asking, and always gave the same answer to. It was why she loved freely, loved without restraint – loved without holding on, because she was already committed to Serenity.

Harmonia knew herself. Emotional intelligence was her strong point, and so was self-reflection. She knew what her answer would be with the question that arose from this love, too.

And beyond her usual question and answer, there was the lifespan. The forbidden aspect regarding Terra and interactions with the Silver Millennium. His duties, and how he, too, would not choose love over his loyalties. There were so many reasons screaming ‘no’ that had love worked rationally, it would be an impossibility, something spun out of the wildest dreams.

If it could be controlled, Harmonia told herself, if it was sensible, if it was something that could be rationed with, if it could be prevented by something like ‘being careful’, then it wouldn’t be love. That wasn’t how love worked.

What now?

Well, now she had to make sure that three other people who were probably trying to self-control her way out of love, reason herself into thinking that she wasn’t actually in love, and flustered about everything and wary of love, respectively, weren’t going to do something stupid. That was her job as the leader.

And then?

The part of her that was the leader of Serenity’s guard, the soldier, Sailor Venus, said that she should be stoic. The part of her that was Aphrodite’s incarnation, princess of Venus, a Venusian, said that love was a storm, and to tell it to stand down was like shouting the same at a storm. She could only accept it as it dowsed her in rain and tossed her around in wind, and she could enjoy it, or she could suffer.

As both, Harmonia quietly sighed, and put everything out of her mind. Then, with her head clear of everything, she went to track Serenity down, to make sure that her princess wasn’t moping after being pulled away from her beloved Terran prince.


	7. the hardest choice would be best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: the hardest choice would be best  
> Characters: Yamamoto Takeshi; Tomoe Hotaru; Miura Haru; Rokudo Mukuro; Sawada Tsunayoshi; Gokudera Hayato; Chrome Dokuro  
> Relationships: one-sided Takeshi/Hotaru; Hotaru/Mukuro  
> Summary: For Gerbilfriend. Saturnine from Takeshi’s point of view. Takeshi had lost this fight before he knew he was in it.  
> Warnings: Saturnine-AU. Timeline is deliberately vague because I am also confused (this person).  
> Note: Poor Takeshi, losing in popularity to a dude who’s stuck in a fish tank. I’m still amazed at Saturnine’s popularity and the number of requests I get for Mukuro/Hotaru. I wonder what would have happened if the main story was Saturnine and Petrichor was the AU.  
> Song of the chapter: Just Be Friends – Megurine Luka (Dixie Flatline)

How much did you ‘know’ a person?

Takeshi didn’t expect to know everything about a person. For one, he didn’t know himself fully, and he was the person that would know Yamamoto Takeshi the best, apart from his dad. If he didn’t know himself, then he couldn’t expect to know others.

But you could know things about a person. Some things could be told.

[“My parents are dead,” Hotaru told him, years after that funeral. It was both light and heavy – light, in her admission of it, as if the words were easy to speak, but heavy because of the light in her eyes and Takeshi knew that was what she meant when she said she didn’t know how to make it better.]

And some things were observed.

[Sometimes Hotaru got a tender, sad look in her eyes, when she saw him. It was in moments like when he was eagerly talking about a baseball game, or when he complained about not liking math, or when he gave up trying to get her to drink milk and drank it himself.

It was the look he saw in his own face, sometimes, when he missed his mom and caught sight of himself in the mirror. It was directed at someone not here, someone who wasn’t him, but someone he sometimes reminded her of.]

He didn’t know everything about Hotaru. But he had been her friend for years, had observed her in different states for years, and he could say with absolute certainty that Hotaru, despite looking like she was going to burst into tears, was very, very happy.

* * *

In the hospital, all of them recovering from their trip to Kokuyo Land, Tsuna, who had been the last one standing, took the time they had on hand to tell them what they missed out on. Takeshi listened quietly to Tsuna’s recounting of the fight that he couldn’t have been at the side of, swearing to himself that he would do better.

“Rokudo Mukuro was,” Tsuna paused, trying to gather his thoughts.

Takeshi waited patiently, wondering what the word of choice would be. Crazy? Cruel?

“Sad,” said Tsuna, breaking expectations as usual.

“Rokudo Mukuro was _sad_?” Gokudera repeated. It was shock, but not rude disbelief because even when taken off-guard, Gokudera would never disrespect Tsuna.

It was an odd word to describe the guy Tsuna fought in what sounded like a pretty harsh fight, but Tsuna didn’t take it back. He had mixed feelings, that was obvious, but he stood by his impression.

“Maybe I was the one who was sad,” he murmured, because Tsuna was a good guy who could worry about someone who beat him up. “But I think he was sad in his own way, too, and just didn’t know it because no one had taught him.”

* * *

Mukuro wasn’t, objectively, a good guy. But he did fight on their side – through Chrome, which Takeshi was still a little confused about on the how of the matter – and Tsuna said it was fine, so it was okay.

But if anyone asked Takeshi if he expected to see Rokudo Mukuro crying –

No one asked, but there it was. Chrome was gone, replaced by a guy their age in the Kokuyo uniform, and he was kneeling, before Hotaru, with tears running down from his mismatched eyes.

The thing most important to him right now, though, was Hotaru, who –

Looked happy. So happy that she was about to cry.

Something in Takeshi clicked. Not necessarily for the better, but in understanding, nonetheless. It made sense, now.

“I’m sorry,” Mukuro croaked. “Princess, I’m so sorry.”

And then Hotaru, deep relief and joy and love washing over her face, leaned in to hold Mukuro tightly, wrapping her arms around him like he was the most precious thing she would ever hold.

 _Oh_ , thought Takeshi.

Not all fights, he learned that day, as Hotaru said something he didn’t understand, and then the two of them snapped back into reality and then ran away, hand in hand. Not all fights were started with both sides having a chance at victory. Some fights, you lost from the start, before you even began.

* * *

Gokudera freaked out, and so did Tsuna.

The next day, Chrome shyly standing next to her, they met at Hotaru’s house. Gokudera had been eager to confront Hotaru – and Mukuro – on what that had been all about, and Tsuna was kind of dragged along even as he panicked.

And Takeshi? Well, he was kind of curious, too, and worried, so he was there as well.

“Give me a short and concise version of how you know Rokudo Mukuro,” demanded Gokudera.

“Gokudera-kun, please,” Tsuna pleaded, trying to get the silver-haired boy to tone down his rudeness.

“You don’t have to say if you don’t want to,” said Takeshi because Hotaru was, at the end of the day, still Hotaru, still his friend, and no matter what he was going to take her side. Even if he was dying of curiosity, and just wanted to know – how?

“Just – calm down,” requested Hotaru, and eventually, Gokudera, with a huff, sat back down. Tsuna slumped in his seat, looking frazzled. Reborn tipped his head, expression giving away nothing.

Chrome kept her eye turned down, towards her lap. She seemed – well, she looked as jumpy as usual, but she was oriented around Hotaru, which suggested that there was some level of comfort she felt with her.

“I remember my previous life,” said Hotaru, with a nervous cringe as she said those words. “And, so does he, and we knew each other back then. And, well, we died.”

Chrome bowed her head quietly, which was the tamest reaction of them all.

“What?” shouted Gokudera.

“What?” said Tsuna, stunned.

Takeshi blinked, and if he’d been holding something, he would have dropped it. “Huh?”

Realizing that may have been _too_ succinct an explanation, Hotaru hurried to explain that she had memories of her previous life, where she had been a princess. Haru would have been happy to know that, Takeshi thought.

“And Ia – Mukuro was my retainer back then,” she said. “As was Chrome.”

Chrome still kept her eyes downwards, ignoring the several pairs of eyes that turned to her.

“She doesn’t remember,” added Hotaru. “And that’s fine. She doesn’t have to if that’s what she wants.”

The last words were firm, and Takeshi knew she would not be budged on this. For Chrome’s sake, to take away every bit of blame the girl might try to place on herself.

“May I ask how you died?” asked Reborn.

It wasn’t Hotaru who flinched. It was Chrome, Takeshi and Tsuna who did, and even Gokudera winced a little.

Hotaru took the question better than she had given her answer to how she knew Mukuro. “Our kingdom was attacked and fell.”

The kid wanted to ask more questions, and Takeshi tried to pull him back but Hotaru was faster. “I don’t really want to talk about it beyond that.”

And that was that.

* * *

At least, for the others.

Unlike with her healing, Hotaru didn’t keep it from Haru. They gathered together – at Hotaru’s house, snacks laid out on the table and ignored because the things she was sharing with them was far more interesting than cake or cookies – and they learned about their friend, before she was their friend. Before she was even born.

“He was your retainer?” Haru repeated, eyes still sparkling from when she learned that Hotaru had been a princess.

“Since he was a young boy,” said Hotaru. “He was raised to be loyal to me. To be a perfect retainer for me.”

“That’s so romantic!” gushed Haru, and Hotaru shook her head.

“He didn’t have a choice,” she said firmly. “It was cruel.”

Takeshi tipped his head. “But he was happy to see you.”

Sure, Mukuro had cried – something that still creeped Gokudera out when he remembered, which was easy to know because out of the blue he would shudder like someone was walking on his grave – but. Takeshi had seen his face when Hotaru hugged him, and how eagerly he had let her pull him away.

It wasn’t just Hotaru that had looked at him with love. Everything about Mukuro’s actions from that day – the tears, the kneeling, the following like she was the only light in the world – said that it was love.

Hotaru smiled at that, her lips curving upwards like a reflex. With a pang in his chest, Takeshi realized that just the thought of Mukuro being happy made Hotaru happy.

“He chose me, that life, and we were happy.” Hotaru paused and frowned, leaning the side of her face against her hand. “And then, um, we died. But we were happy.”

Haru’s eyes grew as wide as the saucers of their untouched teacups. “You were married?”

Her hand slipped and Hotaru’s head nearly crashed into the tabletop. “No!”

“But you said he chose you,” Haru pointed out, and Takeshi silently agreed. Even if it was a little weird for the retainer to be the one choosing the princess. Wasn’t it usually the other way around?

A red flush colored Hotaru’s cheeks. “I meant he chose to stay as my retainer instead of leaving,” she said, choked with embarrassment.

“But you still like him, right?” If this was baseball, Haru had just hit a home run.

Face redder than he’d ever seen her, Hotaru nodded silently.

Haru clapped her hand together once, as if to say that settled it. “Then it’s romantic. It’s a second chance, and this time you’ll be old grandparents together because you’ll stay together for a long time.”

Hotaru buried her face into her hands and giggled.

“You’re right,” she said, after emerging. “You’re absolutely right, Haru.”

Takeshi waited until Haru went to the bathroom.

“As long as you’re happy,” he said, because that was what was most important. “Thank you for telling us.”

There had been things he would never know about her. Takeshi would never have known about her past life until she told him. Technically, she didn’t even have to. She could have just said that she and Mukuro fell in love or something.

But Hotaru chose to tell him and Haru, show more of herself that she’d previously kept hidden. It wouldn’t have mattered if she had told them before, and it didn’t matter now – Hotaru was still precious to him, still his oldest friend. What mattered was that she chose to tell them.

The trust was important to him, and so he returned it in the best way that he could – by just accepting it.

Hotaru smiled at him, affectionate in every way. “Thank you for taking it so well.”

* * *

“I know you fought for Tsuna,” Takeshi said cheerfully. “And thanks for that, by the way.”

Mukuro looked at him like he was insane. Haru was keeping Hotaru occupied, because Haru was a good friend and was going to return the favor for Takeshi keeping Hotaru occupied while Haru gave her version of the ‘interview the guy in love and loved by my friend’.

Also known as the shovel talk. Haru was less interested in burying Mukuro, more in assessing and getting to know the guy.

“Make no mistake, Yamamoto Takeshi,” he began. “There is no love lost between me and the filth that-”

“I know,” interrupted Takeshi, and it was rude but that wasn’t the main focus, so he needed to get back on track. “I’m here to talk about Hotaru.”

The mismatched eyes narrowed at him, as if his casual referral of Hotaru irked him. Oh, right, for him, Hotaru had been a princess he served.

Well, Hotaru was his friend so he could deal with it.

“Are you going to make her happy?” Would he love her? Would he do everything he could to keep her happy, safe, smiling? Would he stay as hers as she was intent, willing on being his?

Would Rokudo Mukuro be Tomoe Hotaru’s?

Even before he received an answer, Takeshi knew it.

“With my life,” said Mukuro, no taunting smirk on his lips. “As I have told the four others that have come to speak with me, I am hers – always have been, and always will be.”

Takeshi refrained from pointing out that he hadn’t shown up until recently, because he didn’t want him to try and make up for lost time.


	8. Can't you see my stacked broken thyrsus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Can't you see my stacked broken thyrsus  
> Characters: Asari Ugetsu; Sergio Tiberinus (aka Acheron, aka Checker Face, aka Kawahira); Giotto | Vongola Primo; Sephira; Vongola 1st Gen  
> Relationships: Asari Ugetsu & Sergio Tiberinus (friendship)  
> Summary: It is surprisingly Ugetsu who best gets along with Sergio Tiberinus.  
> Warnings: Pre-Daemon Spade shenanigans. First Gen stuff.  
> Song of the chapter: Dionysus – BTS

Of all the Vongola, it was surprisingly Ugetsu who got along best with Sergio Tiberinus, though it wasn’t always that way, and for good reason.

Sergio Tiberinus, the illusionist with a barbed tongue whose patience was thin, and vengeance swift but subtle, was powerful and dangerous. G was ninety-percent sure that some of Daemon’s infamy was mislabelled, and actually due to Sergio’s rather than Daemon’s actions, but neither raised their voice about it to correct any misgivings.

Or rather, G did, after Daemon insisted that this or that incident actually hadn’t been because of him when Giotto inquired, and Giotto sighed before putting the matter aside.

G, naturally, protested to Giotto’s disturbingly lacking sense of caution against the Giglio Nero’s Mist Guardian.

“This is serious, Giotto,” G warned. “You know how powerful he is.”

Ugetsu hadn’t witnessed it himself, having been on his way to Italy at the time, but he’d heard the tale. Daemon and Sergio had engaged in a ‘friendly’ battle of illusions when they were first introduced, and Daemon had seemingly come out on top, Sergio left bloodied and torn.

Only for the illusion to fall apart after victory was declared, revealing that Sergio had been at Lady Sephira’s side the whole time, eating and watching with everyone else, not a hair on his head harmed. Daemon had never noticed until then, and neither had even Giotto.

Lady Sephira had apparently smacked him on his back and said that he’d still lost, to which Sergio had merely shrugged and agreed like he didn’t care. That was a bigger blow to Daemon’s pride than the revelation itself, obviously. To this day Daemon still ground his teeth with fury when Sergio was mentioned or appeared in the vicinity.

“I know.” Giotto grimaced, like he had just recounted a bad memory. “But trust me when I say that he won’t hurt me, or the Vongola.”

G tried to argue, but Giotto was stubborn, and eventually the redhead threw his hands into the air and told him to do what he wanted, like he always did.

Giotto, Ugetsu thought, had an oddly confident approach to Sergio. As if he was certain Sergio Tiberinus would not harm him.

It was the kind of certainty one had in the sun rising the next day, or the tides coming in and retreating. The kind of certainty one had in the heat of flames, the chill of ice before their eyes. As if it was a natural phenomenon, something that just was.

Odd, because Sergio Tiberinus did not make his dislike of Giotto subtle, at least not to Giotto himself or to the Vongola’s Guardians. He kept it reigned in when other eyes were present, the young ones of Sephira’s daughter included, but that was about the only restraint that could be expected from him.

Giotto just took it in stride, and Lady Sephira always apologized on behalf of her Mist Guardian, looking mortified at her Guardian’s behaviour, but Sergio never stopped.

He never attacked, either, so they kept their guard up, the only thing they really could do. At least his dislike for G had a reason. His antipathy towards Giotto and Simon Cozzato was unexplained.

But they were not interested in earning the favor of someone who blindly disliked them, did not have the energy in their hearts to spare for such a pointless endeavor, and so they kept their distance as well.

If Ugetsu had not one day witnessed Sergio strumming the strings of a _pipa_ with the expertise of someone who had played his entire life and singing a song in Chinese, he might have kept his distance like everyone else.

Ugetsu would always make the choice he did back then, to leave Japan and come to Giotto’s aid. His friend needed it, to the point where G had been desperate enough to contact the foreigner that grated at his nerves. Of course he would come.

But at the same time, he had missed his home quite a lot. The _pipa_ was nearly identical to the _biwa_ , and odd as it was for Sergio to play it so expertly, the music had filled something in Ugetsu he hadn’t known was missing.

If that had been it, Ugetsu would have contented himself with listening. For all that the man was acerbic, his music was not. It was beautiful, food for ears fit for a king, and Ugetsu marvelled at his skill, but there was more to it than just beauty.

Sergio played, and he played with the passion of someone who loved music. In the man who, until now, Ugetsu had been on guard around, he recognized a kindred soul, someone who was like him.

Unable to just pass on such a rare soul, Ugetsu did what he did best and struck up a conversation about music.

The response, of course, wasn’t as smoothly accepted. Sergio stopped strumming – a shame – and looked at him, sharp face twisted in disbelief and confusion, as if he had seen something utterly absurd, even for a master illusionist.

Beaming, smiling brightly like this wasn’t the first time they were conversing out of more than necessity – one-sided as the desire was – Ugetsu repeated his question phrased as a comment and pushed through as if Sergio wasn’t directing an odd look at him. As if he couldn’t feel the prickles of stares on his back. G would have words for him later.

Rather than chase him away with his sharp tongue, Sergio sighed before responding in a non-acerbic manner, something that actually surprised Ugetsu. That had been a lot easier than expected, if he was being honest. He expected a lot more resistance, and a lot more time before this kind of response.

In other words, Sergio didn’t need to be as worn down as Ugetsu was prepared for. He had a harder time earning G’s non-aggressive attitude than this.

But, well, Ugetsu was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. It was a gift, unexpected as it was, and he would accept it as it was.

He was more than ecstatic to learn that Sergio was a fluent musician in more than the _pipa_. He also played many more instruments from the east such as the _erhu_ , the _dizi_ , and the _suona_ , each with a skilled hand that coaxed out heartbreakingly beautiful music with ease.

It was incredibly exciting. Giotto appreciated music, and G played the piano sometimes. Daemon knew a few things, due to what was expected of nobility in this country, and Elena was always eager to hear him play, but it was just him who loved music the way he did.

In the Vongola, it was also only him who was truly familiar with instruments from back home. Familiar as in not just know of them, or how to play them, but truly – _appreciate_ them, so to speak. Not treat it as some exotic thing to be enjoyed as entertainment, but as a balm for the soul, a form of meditation, an art that was.

Music was such an important part of him, and sometimes it was lonely. Music was beautiful even when played by one person, but harmony could not be achieved by one person, just like how one hand alone could not clap.

For Ugetsu to find another who could play, and more importantly clearly had such passion for music was incredible. Sergio had a few instruments in the Giglio Nero – ones clearly made by craftsmen dedicated to their art – but those that he didn’t, he used his talent in illusions to create. It was a method that Daemon Spade might have used for Elena and startled a laugh out of Ugetsu the first time Sergio did it, to play the _guzheng_.

“Laugh if you want,” Sergio said dryly, but the corners of his lips turned upwards as he reached out to pluck at the strings of the real illusion he’d woven, a magic cast to bring forth another, entirely different kind of magic. “But only after lugging one of these around.”

That was also the first time he saw Sergio smile – not smirk, not smile sardonically in a threatening, chilling way reminiscent of a snake about to strike, or a panther about to lunge, but an actual smile – at someone other than Lady Sephira or her daughter.

Other than his dislike of Giotto, Sergio was a surprisingly good man, who was very easy to talk to over their shared interests. He also spoke several dialects of Chinese, and to Ugetsu’s surprise, spoke a dialect of Japanese. He wasn’t familiar with the dialect, but Sergio soon picked up on Ugetsu’s faster than Ugetsu picked up on his, and they were capable of communicating in his mother tongue over compositions and rearranging songs.

His friendship with Sergio made the Vongola’s meetings with the Giglio Nero a lot less tense. For all that Giotto insisted that Sergio Tiberinus would not hurt him, and Lady Sephira gave her word and even admonished Sergio in public about his attitude, there had always been tension with the guardians when the ice-blue eyes filled with something that could never be interpreted as anything positive had directed their gaze to Giotto.

Ugetsu not only served as a distraction to keep Sergio from glaring daggers at Giotto, but also showed a much different side to the man. Daemon still didn’t trust him, vocally expressing his belief that it was all an act to anyone who would listen, but even he could not argue at the sight of Sergio and Ugetsu seriously debating about comparing the _sheng_ to the new reed wind instrument going around recently in Europe, before coming to the conclusion that it was a biased argument they were making since both preferred the _sheng_.

Seeing the satisfied smiles exchanged between Giotto and Sephira, Ugetsu could guess that this was a plan to prevent tensions from being planted between the Vongola and the Giglio Nero, and he didn’t mind his role in it.


	9. And ready for another kind of fix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: And ready for another kind of fix  
> Characters: Hibari Fumito (Original Character)  
> Relationships: Hibari Family  
> Summary: Fumito watches Kyoya as he breaks out of his egg at last.  
> Warnings: Hibari Fumito is an OC – half-brother of Kyoya. He was mentioned in Interlude III. He’s not very important, but this part was originally supposed to be in Interlude III before being cut out for being too OC-centric and was partially absorbed into Hibari’s part, so it might seem familiar.   
> Song of the chapter: Runnin’ – Adam Lambert

Kyoya was his younger brother.

That was a fact. It didn’t matter that they had different mothers, by blood. Mother was Mother, she had made that all-too clear for him when he was but a child, and Fumito was a man now, old enough to know how special her acceptance of him as her child despite the lack of blood relations was in this cruel, traitorous world, when even shared blood wasn’t enough to stop blades turned on family.

Kyoya was his younger brother, and he was different, but that didn’t matter. He was Fumito’s younger brother. They got along, not in the conventional sense of brothers, but they did. Fumito thought it was a little like how two animals feeding from different sources didn’t have any need to clash with each other. Their differences meant that they had no reason to fight and could coexist peacefully.

Fumito’s interests were in inheriting the Hibari Clan, and in having a hand over everything owned by the clan. He also quite enjoyed diplomacy, and battles of brilliant brains. He preferred a diet heavy with vegetarian dishes.

Kyoya couldn’t have been more different in personal preferences if they actively tried. He was interested – dare Fumito say, _obsessed_ – with Namimori, and especially the junior high he attended, though he was no ordinary student in any definition of the word. Unlike Fumito, he didn’t attend Yumei, and Fumito suspected it was precisely because Yumei students wouldn’t have been able to offer Kyoya the things Namimori Middle did. The liveliness. The resistance. The idiots that didn’t recognize a top predator immediately unless a demonstration was given.

To put it simply it was Namimori Middle’s wildness that let Kyoya establish himself there, claim it as the heart of his territory. He might have just died of boredom if he attended Yumei. Or, well, more likely, Kyoya would have destroyed Yumei and wandered around until he found Namimori Middle and was satisfied after bringing it under his heel. He loved meat, and he loved to fight.

Their similarities ran in their need for control, but that was about as far as it went. Fumito preferred having a string to pull in everything, regardless of whether the subject was of interest to him. Kyoya didn’t need the details unless it was a part of what he focused on.

A puppeteer, and a king of beasts. Two very different brothers.

They were different, but their differences let them just work the way they did. It was comfortable. Fumito knew all about Kyoya’s preferences and made sure things went smoothly for his Disciplinary Committee, sending appropriate information and notices to Kusakabe – Tetsuya, not Yukino. Kyoya sometimes came in and, instead of swinging his tonfa like he might have towards non-family, told him verbally to stop interfering in his business, and Fumito respected his wishes.

It was an unusual relationship. But serendipitously, everything about and around them let it all work out. He didn’t have to worry about Kyoya as a potential foe in a power game like he might have with anyone else because Kyoya could not do cloak and daggers by nature of who he was and did not towards family, and Kyoya tolerated him as a human being and acknowledged him as family. It was an honor not granted by mere blood connection, and it meant a lot to Fumito because he knew just how valuable that was.

Whatever happened in life, he was content with being the older brother of Hibari Kyoya, because it was something beyond his control, but granted to him. Anything else of worth he desired he could fight for control of himself.

And then one day, Kyoya returned with injuries so severe he had to be hospitalized.

Though it grated at Fumito’s pride for his younger brother to say so, Kyoya was a big fish in a small pond. Namimori was a small town, the small pond that Fumito and his parents knew was too small for Kyoya.

Truth be told, there was always something greater, something stronger – something more dangerous. Fumito knew that his mother had fled something, knew of things deeper and darker than what she liked to pretend. She had never pretended to be the Yamato Nadeshiko, but neither did she flaunt the dangerous part of her, the part Kyoya inherited in full and then in surplus and was brazen about, the sledgehammer to her stiletto.

Until now, Kyoya had, with his borderline obsession, kept his focus on Namimori. Territorial soul that he was, there was nothing that would have made Kyoya budge from Namimori, and therefore the safety of the Hibari Clan.

Fumito knew Mother had been quite happy with that arrangement and could understand why. Kyoya wasn’t the type meant to interact with others ‘normally’, to say the least. In Namimori, he didn’t have to. The town would cater to his ways and needs, and he would not have to change his methods. Their parents – and later Fumito as well – had made sure of that. In that sense Fumito was more like Mother – they were both subtle about their methods, and preferred manipulation to outright confrontation. Kyoya allowed the small world to be maintained by them, and they continued to do so.

Until someone had come to shatter the egg and give Kyoya the rude awakening that there was a greater world out there, beyond his boundaries. That someone had done it in the worst possible way, and now Kyoya would never be the same.

Fumito celebrated his brother’s chance for growth, and quietly mourned the passing of his younger brother’s ‘naïveté’. Unfitting as the word might have been for Hibari Kyoya, it truly was the best word Fumito could use.

He always was too big for Namimori, but in his hyper-focus had not noticed this, was limiting his own growth. Kyoya would realize that now and take the world by storm.


	10. make it easy, say I never mattered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: make it easy, say I never mattered  
> Characters: Luna; Artemis; Kawahira | Acheron  
> Relationships: Luna/Artemis (but not the focus)  
> Summary: “I mean,” said Artemis, thoughtfully. “He’s probably a good person?” Or, Acheron’s skills with forging IDs is known years before his gift to Hotaru.  
> Warnings: identity forgery; mentions of Fruit Basket.  
> Song of the chapter: Young Volcanoes – Fall Out Boy

The two manila envelopes that had been dropped off - at Makoto’s since she lived alone, for the purpose of not being intercepted by non-sailor soldiers as the sticky note explained – were each roughly the thickness of a thin binder due to the contents they held. Inside were official documents and papers. Identification, like passports, insurance cards, birth certificates, report cards from elementary to high school years – good grades, Luna noticed.

One was for a woman named ‘Sohma Mizuki’. Her life’s story was in a neatly organized document that went on for several pages, with details about her family – brief profiles about those she ‘knew’ and were ‘known’ by. Parents she wasn’t close to before their death, and no siblings. Cousins she was on speaking and seeing terms with, but no one close.

The other was for a man, ‘Shiba Minato’. His backstory was a few pages shorter, due to not having extended family to speak of. A distant cousin of Aino Minako on her mother’s side who lived abroad for much of his life, mostly alone and drifting until he met up with Minako and decided he found his calling as a manager and agent.

If Sohma Mizuki and Shiba Minato were interested in marrying, an addendum to Sohma Mizuki’s relationships said. The Sohma clan had a rule about marrying into the family, so Shiba Minato would become Sohma Mizuki. The family was weird, was the sentence that read like an afterthought. They have a secret but only those in the ‘inner circle’ knew of it, of which Sohma Mizuki was not included, and therefore had no reason to worry about.

Whatever else might be said about the mysterious guardian of Terra, one thing was clear. He had a flair for writing dramatic stories. There were some soap opera-worthy plots in these.

Luna flipped through other pictures of ‘younger years’. The pictures that were included were images that could conceivably pass as younger selves of their humanoid forms. Conceivably, as in ‘if I didn’t know better, I would believe those to be pictures from my younger days that were taken without my knowledge or consent’ conceivably.

“Sohma,” muttered Luna, setting aside the disturbing similarities of the dark-haired girl in the photos next to members of her ‘family’. “Where have I heard that name before?”

A quick search revealed that the family was a wealthy, prestigious but closed-off clan, and the backstory documents confirmed it. Luna felt a headache come on with a vengeance. On one hand, that made the identities as solid as marble, but on the other hand, it made it harder for her.

Somehow, her false identity had connections to a real family. A complicated one.

Which then raised the question of how, except unlike Helios the guardian Acheron had been living among humans so Luna could take a stab at a guess.

“Wha – there’s even a bank account!” Artemis wasn’t finished digging, and uncovered finances. His jaw dropped at the number of zeroes allocated to his ‘name’. It wasn’t enough to make him a millionaire, but it was a tidy sum, one that could theoretically allow him to start off a financially independent life, provided he managed his savings well and earned money himself in a year or so. “Holy queen of the moon, he really went all out.”

A man that they had never even met, suddenly dropping off documents that would give them the ability to blend into human society. Not temporarily, but long-term.

The two of them exchanged glances. It wasn’t just the sheer amount of – _detail_ – that went into making these identities proof of existence for people that didn’t exist, it was the timing of it. With Minako on her way to becoming a star, she needed an agent who not only cared about her wellbeing, but also understood her need for flexible schedules and knew of her other identity, which drastically narrowed down the list of possible candidates. Artemis had been intending on filling that role, but there was only so much handwaving with magic to cover for the fact that he didn’t technically exist as a person to represent her.

This? Even the Dark Kingdom couldn’t have done better. And they were evil, and doing evil things, but they had been really good at creating false identities for themselves while acting as stars to sap energy from the unsuspecting masses.

“Should we be creeped out?” asked Luna. This was a little stalker-ish, and probably very illegal.

“I mean,” said Artemis, who had honestly done some creeping and stalking a few years back himself. In his defense, it had been for a good cause – protecting the world – but he had a feeling that if he ever raised the point against Acheron, the priest would merely give the same response. “He’s probably a good person?”


	11. Nobody matters like you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Nobody matters like you  
> Characters: Aria; Reborn; Uni (technically)  
> Relationships: Aria & Reborn; past Reborn/Luce  
> Summary: When Aria tells Reborn she is pregnant, he reacts like she did – he freezes with horror. For Suzululu4moe.  
> Warnings: Not the sweet (?) ‘who do I have to shoot’ kind of pregnancy revelation between a father-daughter duo.  
> Song of the chapter: Rockabye, Clean Bandit

Aria did not often ask her father for much. It wasn’t because she begrudged him for his minimal presence in her life, despite what he seemed to think. She loved him quite a lot, and did not fault him for staying away out of fear that he would hurt her. She did not blame him, for not being there when Mama slipped away, because she Saw for herself just how much he suffered and blamed himself. She called him ‘Papa’ instead of ‘Uncle Reborn’ when they were together privately, to make up for all the times she couldn’t.

She just never had something she needed to ask him for. She was fortunate in life, in many ways, and though there would be hardships in her life, it was not something she couldn’t overcome, either by herself or with the Giglio Nero.

But exceptions were the way of life, and it was inevitable that there would be an exception to Aria’s firm way of life.

When Aria contacted her father, desperate for his help, he came immediately, dark eyes glittering with worry.

“Aria?” His eyes flitted over the room, Leon in his small hand as a gun – his preferred make, deceptively lacking danger in appearance for its green color and small size. But Aria knew better than anyone to not judge the Arcobaleno by their size alone. She had two of them as her parents, and several more as aunt and uncle figures.

She needed his strength right now. She was the ninth boss of the Giglio Nero, yes, but she was still only in her twenties, and Grandmama was dying, and she was so scared –

“Aria.” Reborn hopped up into her lap and reached out to press a hand against her ribs. It was the wrong place, and she knew it was because of the limitations of his size and him not knowing why, but Aria would have laughed if she wasn’t feeling so choked right now. “Aria. Listen to me. Breathe. Follow my lead.”

She did, clutching his small body tightly and forcing herself to breathe slowly until she did not have to rely on him to do so.

“Papa,” Aria choked out, when she’d regained her voice and some small space for cognition in her panic-filled brain. “I’m pregnant.”

Maybe, in different circumstances, it could have gone another way.

“Who is it,” Reborn might have said, and from his tiny body might have erupted the fury of a father who had just been hit with the news that his publicly single daughter was pregnant.

“Papa,” Aria might have said, trying to hold back a smile despite the very real worry. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad,” Reborn might have replied, even as he loaded the Leon gun with bullets that were soon to find a new home in some poor sap’s head.

Or, it could have gone a different direction, with him stunned into silence.

“We’ll need to babyproof everything,” he might have said at last, lowering the rim of his fedora to hide his eyes. “You were a rambunctious baby, always eager to explore everything recklessly.”

And Aria might have smiled and pretended to not hear the dampness in his voice. “Grandmama says that Mama was the gentlest, most well-behaved baby she’d ever seen.”

Then he might say, still not showing his eyes, something along the lines of - “That’s because you’re my daughter. My granddaughter might be exactly the same.”

What Reborn actually did was freeze, eyes wide in horror. Just like hers had been when she found out, because of the implications. She truly was her father’s daughter, immediately jumping to the worst possible outcome.

Technically, any baby of hers would be welcomed, regardless of her father’s reaction to the news. The Giglio Nero was known for its stability in its leaders. All daughters of the boss became a boss at the age of twenty, give or take a few years, and worked alongside their mothers and grandmothers, and later their daughters and granddaughters. It was the youngest that wore the Mare Ring, when the current bearer deemed her ready to inherit the symbol, but there were three working to lead the Giglio Nero, and it was always stable.

Until Luce had been cursed to be an Arcobaleno after giving birth, and died when Aria was sixteen. Leaving Aria and her grandmother Beatrice, a gap between the two generations like a gaping hole.

Beatrice was old and dying. She had lived longer than previous bosses of the Giglio Nero, but age and losses were taking its toll on her. If she died, Aria would be the only boss left, and this fragility would leave not just the Giglio Nero but everyone that depended on their family nervous, fearing a collapse.

The announcement of her pregnancy, and the guarantee of an heir would soothe many. Just like how, despite Luce being cursed to take infant form, many had been relieved that at least she had given birth to Aria prior.

But the curse still hung over their heads and around their necks, and Aria now knew what her mother must have felt when Aria was sixteen, with the devil whispering in their ears.

“What if she gets cursed, too?” Aria whispered, a hand pressed against her stomach. Her abdomen felt the same as it always had, flat with muscle under the skin firm and unyielding, but the knowledge that there was life within it made Aria be far more careful about even touching herself.

Luce had sent away the Arcobaleno when they were turned, fearing that there was an eye in the Giglio Nero. That hadn’t stopped whoever was responsible for returning when Aria was sixteen to pass her mother’s curse to her. Incomplete, yes, but passed on nonetheless.

What if that happened to her daughter? Luce lived for sixteen years as the Arcobaleno of the Sky. If sixteen years was all Aria had, then her daughter would be four years younger than she was.

Twelve, when the curse was forced onto her in the parody of a choice.

The bile that rose to her throat was not from morning sickness. She would have welcomed that.

“What if he comes for her?” The man in the checkered mask, with the iron hat perched on his head. He was her boogeyman, except he had not disappeared as she grew into an adult.

Aria still had nightmares about the night her mother disappeared from her life. If he came for her daughter this time, then Aria would have to watch her make the decision Aria did. She would be in her mother’s position this time.

A small hand grabbed hers, grip tight and strong despite the small fingers.

“We will stop him,” he promised.

She had always been able to read her father, by virtue of her Sight. It was something she had been grateful for, growing up – because it let her read his heart and know with absolute certainty that he did love her, and kept her from growing up with daddy issues. It let her be understanding of things beyond size that made her parents different from ‘regular’ parents, and love herself without ever being insecure over the worry that her parents did not love her.

Aria despaired of the Sight now, for what it told her. For all that Reborn was putting up a calm, confident front, he too despaired at the thought of the man in the iron hat one day appearing out of the mist to curse her daughter.

She didn’t even have a name, Aria thought, and it wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say she was on the edge, ready to tip into the realm of becoming hysterical.

“We will,” said Reborn, picking up on her emotions. Even as he had little hope himself, he made the promise, willing to do anything to keep his word. “Aria. We will find a way. I promise.”

Aria closed her eyes. It was a temporary measure, solving things as much as sticking her head into the sand would, but she wanted to believe. She wanted to hope. “Okay, Papa.”


	12. Days that I shared with you (are not here anymore)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: Days that I shared with you (are not here anymore)  
> Characters: Chibi-Usa; Sailor Quartet; Sailor Pluto  
> Relationships: Very minor/implied ships - Chibi-Usa/Hotaru (friendship or romance, whichever is fine); Chibi-Usa/Helios  
> Summary: Back in her own timeline, Chibi-Usa searches.  
> Warnings: a little angst. Vagueness  
> Note: Covers Chibi-Usa, back in her own time.  
> Song of the chapter: I miss you, Mamamoo

It was probably weird to say that the time she loved most was before she was even born, but that was the truth for Chibi-Usa. Not in the way some loved the past they had never known themselves, decorating their fashion and surroundings with vintage of an era bygone, but quite literally, in the way only a time traveller could.

“There’s nothing weird about it,” said Ceres. The leader of the quartets, who had inherited memories from a time that, due to her own presence, split apart from her time.

Ceres was kind to say so, but she wasn’t the one who created a parallel timeline and then made more friends in that one than her own. The concept of the former itself was plenty confusing already.

Pluto made it so easy for her, the complicated thing that was time and its nature fighting to prevent a paradox.

“Say that you are in timeline A,” the lone outer guardian had said. There was a difference between her Plu and the Sailor Pluto of the past, despite some overlap in memories. Her Plu had a weight that was beyond just that of a lonely duty.

It was guilt, and after hearing what had happened in the past of a now-different timeline, envy.

She was too wise to let it obsess her, but it was there nonetheless, and Chibi-Usa wondered, sometimes, if she should have refrained from sharing it.

“If you were to go back in time and make changes,” Pluto had said, drawing a line in the ground and writing ‘A’ on top. “Then the changes that are made could end up creating a temporal paradox, where the very reason for your time travel is cancelled, which would prevent the time travel in the first place.”

“A loop,” said Chibi-Usa, who had studied the realm of time magic after her own time travel. In ignorance she had been bold, but the more she learned, the more she gaped at her own recklessness. There was a reason why Sailor Pluto had to stand guard at the gates of time for so long, after all. It was a terrifying realm, one that not just anyone could dare breach.

“Exactly.” Sailor Pluto drew a second line, this one shorter. She drew a horizontal line bisecting Timeline A, and just touching the top of the other line, which she named ‘B’. “When a time traveller changes something, a parallel timeline is created from that split.”

In other words, the changes she made did not affect her own time – it just went on to create a different branch. With changes that had come from the fluttering of her wings. For better or worse, she didn’t know, but for good.

Chibi-Usa did not regret the changes she made. In that timeline – Timeline B, as Pluto called it – Neptune and Uranus would be alive. Hotaru would be alive, and no longer alone or in pain, and happy. Everyone was happy there.

She just . . . missed them. Back then, they had all been friends. Close. Not to say she wasn’t close with them here, but there was a difference. A distance that came from all the sailor soldiers just being so busy.

They were still family, still dear, but there was a difference, and of course, an absence.

In that sense, the Sailor Quartet, with memories of a timeline changed by her, was a gift. Awakened from the stones she had recovered, they had greeted her as their parallel selves had.

“We only have memories up to the point where Sailor Moon defeated Galaxia and thwarted Chaos,” said Ceres apologetically, when Chibi-Usa asked just how much she knew.

But it was more than enough, for Chibi-Usa. She had the Sailor Quartets, who fought with her and Sailor Moon against Galaxia, and now, they searched for the last person she met in the past that was missing in her own time.

“We found him!”

Pallas might have been the one to call, but Vesta stood guard when Chibi-Usa ran towards the discovery.

Under Elysion’s ruins – a sight both familiar and not – they had uncovered what appeared to be a pillar of ice. Dead vines, blackened and thorny, clung to the sides of the pillar, as if they had died trying to dig past the ice to reach what was within.

Chibi-Usa clapped a hand over her mouth when she recognized the face of the boy inside the ice. It had technically been close to a thousand years for him, and yet his features were identical to what she remembered. Frozen, both to time and literally.

“Helios,” she whispered.


	13. About one span of a hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: About one span of a hand  
> Characters: Setsuna; Fon; minor OC  
> Relationships: Setsuna/Fon  
> Summary: Setsuna and Fon discuss height differences  
> Warnings: Post-Petrichor, Arcobaleno curse has been removed.  
> Note: it’s going to take me a while to get to them in-story so let’s time-skip a little. Also my HC for Fon’s height is used.  
> Song of the chapter: You’re the best, Mamamoo

“You shouldn’t wear heels.”

Professor Abe was known among the women of the faculty for being _that_ guy. The one who liked to carry himself with the air of knowing all, without the humility of one who understands and empathizes. Or, well, the actual knowledge itself. The man who thought that he was more an expert in your field despite not having spent years studying, researching and writing for it, and saw fit to try and explain your specialty to your face in the most patronizing manner possible.

He also had the unfortunate tendency to make conversation in what he thought to be a benign, friendly subject that proved his beneficence and superiority, which was by telling other people what they should or shouldn’t do and why according to his flawless logic.

Setsuna decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was a good day for her and she was feeling generous. “Why is that?”

He didn’t pick up the unspoken edge asking what gave him the right to decide what she wore, when it didn’t harm anyone. If he said something about heels being bad for her health, she may have been more patient, but-

“You’re already too tall,” he said, “and it’s not proper for women to be so tall. Most men don’t like women that are taller than them. If you insist on wearing heels, you’ll find yourself unable to find a good man.”

Even when not taking into account the extra bit that the high heels she liked to wear gives her, Setsuna was tall at an impressive 178cm. Tall enough that many men she met were often shorter than her, and the high heels only add to that height.

And Abe was around 170cm, though Setsuna had heard in the faculty lounge about his tendency to wear insoles to give himself some extra centimeters.

Nothing against height, but he was the one who started it, calling her improper and talking about a ‘good man’ like he was so concerned, so.

“Rest assured,” she said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “My boyfriend likes that I’m taller than he is.”

Abe looks surprised, and Setsuna – rather unkindly, but who cares – thinks that he looks like a pufferfish.

* * *

It was Fon and Setsuna’s turn to make dinner, which meant that Fon cooked while Setsuna washed whatever he used because no one in the house liked Setsuna’s cooking, including Setsuna herself.

Fon dropped off the cutting board and knife, leaned in to press a kiss next to her lips – light, but still full of fond affection – and Setsuna thought about the ‘conversation’ she had earlier that day.

He has very sharp eyes. His friend likes to tease him for being dense, and he can be, by his gentle and easy-going nature, but Setsuna’s seen him be very attentive to anything and everything that has his attention.

She must have made a face, because Fon paused and turned the heat off the pan. “What’s wrong?”

Fon is 171cm. When she doesn’t wear heels, there’s still a difference in height noticeable between them, with her on the taller side. And Setsuna liked wearing heels. They made her legs look great in a way that flat shoes couldn’t. She would still look great, but there was something only heels could accomplish in a look.

“Does my being taller bother you in any way?”

She was confident in front of Abe, because Setsuna does not show weakness in front of those she does not trust or like. That, and she had fury boiling inside her at his words suggesting she was in the wrong for something like her _height_.

Her worries turn out to be for absolutely nothing.

“No?” Fon looked genuinely confused, like he can’t understand why that would even be a concern. “What brought this on?”

The story comes out – with background regarding the kind of man Professor Abe is – and Fon nodded.

“He sounds rather unpleasant,” he said, before he looked Setsuna right in the eyes. In them Setsuna saw only earnest sincerity. 

“When we first met, I had the body of a baby. And even then, regardless of the size of my body, you treated me with the respect of an equal.”

Setsuna remembered the not-quite baby, the distorted time, the curse.

And when it released its hold on Fon and the others, the rainbow flames that had filled the clearing.

“Even back then, I was attracted to you,” he reminisced. “The curse kept me from ever daring to pursue you, but . . .”

Setsuna understood what he was trying to say. That it was the curse itself more than just him being smaller than her. The collective of what it meant, instead of just his size when compared to her.

“Right now?” Fon looked down at his hands. Setsuna liked his hands. Her favorite part of him, if he asked, would probably be his torso, where a dragon danced across tight skin and muscles, but his hands were beautiful too, the hands of someone who worked hard to get what he wanted. Evidence of his time trying left in them, proof of fierce training.

“I like that you are taller than me. It lets me look up to you, as I should at a goddess.”

She had to laugh at that one. “Where do you get these lines?”

There was a playful twinkle in his eyes. “From the heart. Do my tributes displease the divine one?”

Setsuna decided to just embrace it all. “They please the goddess greatly. What favor do you desire, pious one?”

“A kiss, if my goddess is feeling generous.”

She was, very much so, and the generosity could have gone on for hours if her phone didn’t beep. The text was Michiru letting her know she and Haruka and the kids would be here in half an hour, which meant dinner was a high priority.

One last short kiss exchanged – because tributes had to be rewarded thoroughly – they turned back to working the kitchen.

“I think I should be the one asking,” Fon said, a sly smile curling his lips and eyes as he turned the heat back on. “Are _you_ bothered by my being shorter than you?”

Setsuna laughed and shook her head.


	14. that would be my first death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: that would be my first death
> 
> Characters: Acheron; Peitho
> 
> Relationships: Acheron & Peitho (Original Character)
> 
> Summary: Acheron wants to know if his sister ever regrets becoming a priest.
> 
> Warnings: Peitho (formerly Asterodia) is an OC and one of the fourteen priests of Elysion.
> 
> Note: past viewpoint
> 
> Song of the chapter: Black Swan, BTS

Acheron would never forget the day he was sworn in as a priest of Elysion.

He still remembered the incense burning, the burning scent of spices almost cloying in his nostrils, the smoky scent different from the oils used in anointing corpses. The robes he had been given, with small baubles that had the emblem of Elysion hanging from the belt, little weights that kept the cloth from slipping around.

He remembered stepping up to the fires in the pyre, holding a pair of worn sandals – shoes he had worn before, when he wasn’t truly of Elysion. It was a symbol, something to represent his old life. The left sole was more worn than the right, but the right was ripped, near the heel. They had served him well.

Acheron tossed the pair of shoes into the flames without hesitation. The fires started as if his throwing the shoes inside had surprised them, but embraced them nonetheless, and slowly began to devour them, starting their efforts to reduce the old sandals into ash.

The fire felt hot on his face, and as he turned, on his exposed neck. Cybele smiled, Sephira at her back, and he had a new name now. That was the day he was reborn as Acheron, priest of Elysion.

The one thing he couldn’t remember was what his name had been, before. It wasn’t a name given to him by his parents, whoever they were. Perhaps it had been the orphanage that named him, a kindly matron who was devout but not of Elysion, raising children who had no parents, either because of death or abandonment.

A name he abandoned when he became Acheron, and never once looked back.

“Why is that important?” Peitho asked, wrinkling her nose. And it said a lot about just how beautiful his sister was, that even a frowning visage with squinted eyes like she’d just seen something disgusting was still an image to behold.

A frowning woman, still so breathtakingly beautiful, and every word that escaped her mouth was blunt and callous like a hammer to the head. A beauty with the personality and patience of a boar.

Acheron sighed. Wrong person to reminisce to.

Peitho apparently realized what he wanted, and she made some kind of an effort to be accommodating. She straightened out her frowns and swept a hand through her silver hair, to get it out of her way. “Do you miss it?”

 _Some_ kind of an effort. Peitho would never be Sephira. They were different, as much as night and day, and to expect Sephira’s quiet and compassionate empathy from Peitho was to leap off a cliff without taking measures and not expect serious harm.

Not to say that Peitho did not care for him or have her own method of comforting. Peitho just had a way about her that was provoking, an intense, ferocious gaze that offset what would have been a very delicate appearance – like daffodils, maybe, or the reflection of the moon on the surface of the water. Her descendants always seemed to inherit either her appearance or her personality, and it never failed to be disconcerting, to see someone who looked like her act so differently. Acheron still reminisced about one of her granddaughters, who had been very meek and yet her grandmother’s spitting image.

But Peitho was their sister and perfect as she was, and none of them wanted to see her change her ways, even when she picked fights with them. To those within her boundaries it was a challenge, always insisting that they be their best selves, and a reminder for them to push her as well.

To her enemies, it was an attitude that taunted them – dared them to get on her level or die trying.

It was provocative, said one of her former lovers. A lord of some place that thought he could tame the fierce woman, thinking her a nymph that could be caught and made his. He called Peitho a worthy challenge.

Acheron stifled a snort at the old memories. The poor sucker hadn’t realized Peitho was a storm wearing human shape until she’d chewed him up and spat him out and left him pining after his ‘one and only love’ for the rest of his days while she never once looked back.

“No,” he said honestly. He never did. Back then, as the orphan with the unknown name he had been, all he wanted was to become a priest of Elysion, craving a place where he wouldn’t just be feared and shunned but had the potential to be something more. Maybe that was when his talent in illusions had truly become something pronounced, impressive. Acheron never regretted it. “But I wanted to know about what you thought.”

Because while they all had their own stories, Peitho’s was arguably closest to Sephira’s. Maybe Cybele’s was even closer, but Cybele was dead, so Peitho’s was closest.

And since he didn’t dare speak to Sephira about what she had given up, he went to the closest person he could.

Peitho twirled a strand of silver hair around one finger, and Acheron waited patiently. It didn’t take long for a reply. She was far too quick a thinker to need long to organize her thoughts, even when they required that she dip into memories she didn’t care enough to consider in a long while.

“I like being Peitho more than I like being Asterodia,” she said at last. “Even when I was doing things I never imagined needing to do, I liked being Peitho, priestess of Elysion, more than I liked being Asterodia, some girl born and bred to marry Prince Endymion so I could carry his sons and give birth to fine princes. I still hate doing the washing, but if I had to make that choice again, I wouldn’t think twice.”

“You’re still terrible at washing clothes,” Acheron noted, thinking back when he was still a boy and yelling at her about how she sucked at the chores. Admittedly, back then he had been filled with a bit of boyish idiocy, overcompensating for the fact that Peitho had been born from nobility while he was an orphan. Peitho had never taken that lying down, and they fought a lot – but they also had each other’s backs, before and after.

Strange how he’d never been so abrasive towards Sephira.

Well, not really. You couldn’t not love Sephira. It was impossible, like forever defying gravity. He might try to jump, try to fly in the air like birds, but it would never last long.

Peitho reached out and rubbed her knuckles into his skull. When he hissed in pain and glowered, she smirked.

“And Sephira chose the same, remember,” she reminded him.

Acheron let out a huff at her perceptiveness. She didn’t need the Sight to be insightful.


	15. it’s a shining night (don’t torture yourself)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title: it’s a shining night (don’t torture yourself)  
> Characters: Aino Minako; inners  
> Relationships: the girls  
> Summary: Minako and the girls have a pizza night  
> Warnings: Haters and tabloids?  
> Note: the movie Minako is said to have been in, ‘Lady’, is basically the Petrichor-version of ‘The Handmaiden’. I don’t watch enough movies.   
> Song of the chapter: Maria, Hwasa

“Pizza night!” Minako sang as she stepped into Usagi’s apartment. Mamoru being overseas and Usagi studying meant that they had more of these dinners together, where the girls got together like they used to back in middle and high schools. Ami was, of course, the brains of the operation that tried to pour information into Usagi’s brain, while Makoto, no longer bound by obligatory homework or tests, eagerly brought food she made. Rei helped set up and served as a listening wall to Usagi, going through the concepts. Leadership, management and followership was the topic of today.

Minako joined her sister and friend in being a wall, nodding every now and then as they listened to Usagi going through her studies.

Not that her field and the medical field were similar, but Minako knew the importance of leading and managing and following. She had been involved with the concepts since her teens, and so had Usagi, but it wasn’t like the university would accept ‘helped lead sailor soldiers against threat to Earth multiple times in successful defense missions’ as proof of her understanding them to the point of application.

Paper tests. Bane of her existence, and Usagi’s too.

The one person who can and have gotten along with paper and testing in their group nodded when Usagi finished. “Good job, Usagi-chan.”

Usagi slumped into her arms, relieved. Minako saw the notes, cutesy notebooks with pink and bunnies, but the pretty highlighter and girly writing was no cause to dismiss their contents. Paper worn from multiple readings and additions, notes added after initial writing on margins and on sticky notes and underlined in highlighter, all proof of hard work that Usagi had done to understand what she was being taught.

With a grin, Minako reached out to tickle Usagi’s sides.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me in the dumb club,” she mock-wailed. “What happened to barely passing school together? What happened to fails and makeup tests? How could you leave me?”

Usagi, shrieking with laughter, fell over, and Minako collapsed on top of her. “You’re squishing me!”

“Squish the traitor!”

“Come get your pizzas!” Makoto called. The concept of ‘pizza night’ as a night when they ordered pizzas did not sit well with Makoto, whose concept of meal was not complete if she hadn’t made at least one thing in said meal. A bowl of salad sat behind the four pizza boxes, next to a dish stacked with a small mountain made of fried chicken. Like, at least three different types, with different glaze or spices. Dessert, a mango cheesecake, sat in the fridge chilling and ready to be eaten whenever.

Makoto made pizza nights so bountiful.

Rei, who was smart enough to not get into the blond wrestling match, was the first to reach the food, picking up her plate and filling it with her choices. Ami, also too smart to get caught up in the tickle-fest, was next. Makoto made them take more food than they picked up.

She didn’t need to do that for Usagi and Minako, who were going to be responsible for the lack of food waste of the night.

“Alright,” said Ami, the tech of all pizza nights. “Our options today are Minako’s movie, or . . . Minako’s movie.”

The movie of the night was one they all watched before, when it first came out, in theatres, but now that ‘Lady’ was out in DVD and there was this one tabloid spewing false gossip about her, none of them really objected to the movie choice.

Usagi glued herself to Minako’s left, as the movie started.

It was a rag of a magazine, Minako knew. Words printed on its pages shouldn’t even be believed, that was how little cred they really had.

But they had been printed, and that was what set off everyone’s fury.

Artemis, as both her agent and her partner, was livid, turning red as a tomato in his fury, and he was not the only one, because he contacted the others regarding it and soon all the sailor soldiers were just as furious at the lies that had dared to be printed. The ‘journalist’, if he could be called that, was infamous for displaying scandalous and outrageous gossip like it was truth, especially about female celebs. Even the director had spoken out, firmly dismissing these claims as falsehoods without any base.

There were a lot of other things said about her work in ‘Lady’, too. Good things, praising her successfully being able to prove that she could play parts different from the happy, bubbly blonde. Her work as Sailor V in the live-action series, regardless of how on the nose it had been, would have typecast her if it weren’t for her role as one of the main characters in ‘Lady’ – a cunning young woman in a terrible situation who fell in love and found a way out, vastly different from the vigilante Sailor V, who was heroic to the point of being cheesy thanks to the script writers and directors.

Eight hundred people had auditioned for the role, and it was Minako who got the role, out of her own skills.

The role was not, as the tabloid claimed as they had been informed by an undisclosed source, something she got by sleeping with the right people for it.

On screen, the character she played, Lady Izumi, finally made an appearance. The initial scene was about portraying a doll-like lady, a bird in a gilded cage. Rich, but alone in a world where she had no one she could trust. Playing the part of a princess with no powers, but in reality – as would be revealed later – a spider waiting for the chance to strike in the web she had carefully spun. Patient, even when humiliated and stepped on.

But the only hint of such a thing was in her gaze, mysterious and piercing as the main character first finally saw her.

“You’re really pretty in this,” Usagi mumbled, echoing the thoughts of the main character, the servant girl.

“I know, right?” Minako whispered back, because she was. There was a twisted beauty to the character of Lady Izumi, the woman who had been so oppressed and yet still hoped, still wanted to fight the biggest monster in her life and escape this hell she was in. That will to live, refusing to just survive, breathing, but to actually live.

During script readings Minako had envisioned this woman, hiding her steel behind silk and waiting patiently for her chance to strike, and was proud when she managed to bring life into this character on camera.

Usagi lightly shoved her, Minako shoved back, and they ended up in a pushing contest that only broke off when Rei chucked a throw pillow at them both, patience done.

Makoto sniffled when the truth of Lady Izumi’s situation was revealed, they all laughed at the comedic scene, and at the happy ending, when the main characters escaped to live a happy life full of love together, Usagi applauded.

“It’s still good, even when you know what happens,” said Makoto.

“It gets better, because once you know what happens, you know what to look for and realize how masterfully it was set up,” added Rei.

Ami nodded eagerly. Minako knew that beyond that innocent face, the mien that looked incapable of being dastardly and devious, sat the brain that was likely planning on strategies to make the tabloid that decided to indirectly accuse her of using sex to get to places because she had no talent go through some difficulties and marvelled not for the first time in her life at her friend. Friends.

Artemis was all but bullying the lawyers like he was shaking a magic eight ball over and over again for the answer he wanted to see, because their advice was to ignore it and he didn’t like the idea of that. Minako could understand why they said that, because if they did make it a big deal, public perception would be that there was a grain of truth to it, which is why they were working so hard to shut them up. And technically, because the tabloid was reporting that they had been _told_ of what they printed by their source, it couldn’t count as libel.

It was the smart thing, to ignore the gossip they were trying to spread about her. Even if it hurt. But Minako didn’t even need to be angry because she had so many furious on her behalf.

Luna was helping Artemis, digging up dirt regarding the tabloid and their connections with Ami, and Michiru had promised that if she did want to take action, she would be more than willing to recommend some very good lawyers. Setsuna and Hotaru were planning a girl’s night involving the outers as well, full of both good and cheap alcohol and food that Makoto was going to make because they wanted to enjoy girl’s night with good food, not die of food poisoning.

Haruka just suggested breaking some kneecaps, and while Minako turned her down, it was honestly an idea that made her smile.

“You guys are the best,” she said, leaning back.

It was hurtful, sometimes, what was said about her, but when she had her friends, it was hard for the words of some random strangers to matter.


End file.
